The Promised Dance
by KillianJones
Summary: Based on iswearonemmaswan*tumblr*com/post/84468586717


Emma fiddled with her gown, looking around through the crowd. Stupid pirate, she thought. Said he'd be here, but he's late. Or not coming at all. The thought nervously made her shift on her legs, unsteadying her breath. A movement that caught Snow's attention and she took place next to her daughter, hooking her arm in hers.

"Emma," She carefully spoke, Emma looked next to her. Seeing her mother smile at her with that thing in her eyes. That thing that was always there; hope. "He'll be here," Snow assured her daughter, laying her hand on Emma's arm for extra emphasis.

Emma pursed her lips. "Sure," she muttered, almost throwing in a 'whatever' but she didn't, it wasn't lady-like, it wasn't princess-like. She got a lot from her mother, her chin being one of those things, but she didn't get her hopefulness. Nor did she get her grace, gowns weren't her thing - trousers on the other hand - yet she stood here in a long gown; waiting for that pirate who promised her a dance.

"Ah, come on," her mother smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Killian promised, didn't he?"

"Yes," Emma answered. "But," she quickly added before her mother could speak up and saying something about how he always came true to his promises. "It was such a long time ago, maybe he forgot. I mean, surely he's got other things to do."

"Aye," It sounded from behind her, Emma turned around, feeling her mother's arm letting go of hers. "But none as important as you." Killian stood with a small smile playing on his lips, looking at her like it was the first time he laid his eyes upon her.

"You came…" Emma smiled, her lips slowly parted and her eyes wider than usual. Somehow excited to see him standing here in front of her. And then there was that feeling in her stomach, warm and like a thousand butterflies; what a cliché, she thought. Emma Swan did not have butterflies, especially not a thousand, and definitely not for Killian Jones... All right, maybe a few butterflies. A hundred, at most.

"Of course I came," Killian's smug smirk appeared on his face and didn't leave until he finished talking. He was aware of the feeling he gave her, but she knew the feeling was mutual. "I wouldn't want to miss the ball of my favourite princess, now would I?" His teasing made Emma realise what she looked like now. But Emma did not get weak knees caused by men; Emma Swan had men for breakfast. She closed her mouth and that soft, surprised expression made place for a flirty smile.

"Favourite princess?" Her tongue traced along her teeth, eyebrows raised; still with that flirty smile, "how many princesses do you know?"

"A few," Killian answered, taking one step closer. "But none of them compare to you." Emma smiled, nibbling her lips before answering.

"You keep those compliments coming love, you were late and kept me waiting," She raises her hand towards him. "How about that dance you promised me?"

"If the lady insists," he took her hand and gently pulled her closer, letting her twirl under his arm, stopping her as she stood with her back against his chest. "But I must warn you, I'm an exquisite dancer," he whispered in her ear, his lips faintly touching her neck.

"You keep talking pirate," Emma smirked, lifting her head and he followed so that his lips almost met her. But this was a formal ball, and that would not be proper. Not that either of them cared. They had shared a kiss or two before, but they were always in private; quickly or stolen. Leaving one with blushing cheeks as the other left. "But I won't believe a word until I see it happening," she teased, brushing her lips against the stubble on his cheek.

"Will I be rewarded with a kiss if I do?" He closed his eyes and Emma smiled, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. His eyes flashed open, "not what I meant, love."

"I know," Emma answered teasingly, turning herself back around, laying her hand on his shoulder. "But I still haven't had my dance, and I'm eagerly awaiting to see your... What did you call them? Exquisite, was it?" Emma grinned. "Yes, exquisite dance-skills." Killian nodded, laying his hand on her waist. Suddenly she became very aware of his touch, his pleasantly warm hand in hers and even through the corset and fabric of the gown she could feel his tender touch on her waist. And he started to dance with her.

It seemed like a fairytale, for a moment he didn't seem to be a pirate. He looked like a prince, like her very own personalised Prince Charming. And as she looked at him it seemed as if the room had gone empty, she even stopped hearing the music for a moment. It were just the two of them, and the rest of the world didn't matter anymore. Emma had been so lost in thought that she hadn't even noticed he had lifted her up, and she was now in his arms. She found herself captured in his arms, drowning in his eyes. His eyes that stared at her like she was the most beautiful person in the world.

Sudden realisation hit that there were in fact other people in the world, and some of them were probably now staring at them. That thought coloured her cheeks crimson.

"Put me down," she whispered, triggering a teasing grin on his behalf.

"I'd love to, but you owe me a kiss."

"I don't. Now put me down, Jones,"

"I will not," Killian answered. Emma sighed and pursed her lips, shrugging once.

"Fine, you keep holding on to me then." And he did. He stood there in the middle of the ballroom with her in his arms. Emma wiggled her feet, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the attention that was given to them. But she would not be the first to give in; he would be, of that she was certain. She smirked as Killian tried so hard pretending that she was not starting to become heavy in his arms.

Amused, she let out a small chuckle, her hand reaching for his cheek. His eyes closed as her lips touched his.


End file.
